


Morningwood Howl

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Erica, Alive Vernon Boyd, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, F/M, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Morning Sex, Morning Wood, Mpreg, Multi, Pack Pregnancy, Pheromones, Pregnant Sex, Sleepy Sex, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles wakes up in the morning hard and nestled tight against his pregnant lover, how is he supposed to resist the urge to make Derek howl?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morningwood Howl

**Author's Note:**

> Because everyone needs some Sterek PWP for their morning (or evening, or whatever). No, I couldn't tell you where this came from. It just sprang into my head fully formed this morning, and here it is, pretty much literally right after I've finished writing it. Unbetaed, all typos are mine. And of course, I don't own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

Stiles wakes up curled around Derek, bodies pressed close together, his hard dick nestled in the sticky crack of Derek’s ass. He can smell coffee just starting to percolate, and there is water running in the distance, probably the shower downstairs. But the nice thing about the bedroom is that there is an illusion of privacy, even knowing that when they crawled upstairs to bed, the rest of the pack had found places to crash somewhere downstairs.

He lets his hand drift over Derek’s hard chest, finding the place where his belly starts to round, thick and hard beneath Stiles’s hand. He never thought that he’d find this arousing—hell, he never thought this could _happen_ —but he does. It makes him harder then ever to feel Derek’s swollen belly, to acknowledge that his lover is pregnant, somehow, with _his_ child.

Stiles smiles against Derek’s shoulder, pressing kisses along the same line he bit the night before when he was pounding into Derek, feeling him arch beneath him. The marks are already gone, but Stiles doesn’t mind; he’ll just make them again now, and again in the evening, and any time he feels like it. Derek is always a blank canvas for him, whining and whimpering under the sharp nip of Stiles’s teeth, and Stiles loves it.

“Mmph.” Derek rolls back and Stiles slips out of the way, his cock bobbing and sliding along the sheets as Derek sprawls, belly up, next to him. “S’too early,” Derek mumbles.

“Your dick doesn’t think it is.” In this position, it’s easy for Stiles to slide his hand up and over the pregnant mound of Derek’s stomach and then down, fingers tracing the trail of hair that leads straight to Derek’s rigid dick. Stiles wraps his hand around it to give a slow tug, grinning when Derek grunts softly and pushes into his touch.

Derek’s eyes are still closed, one arm flung over his face as if to hide from the oncoming morning sun.

Stiles knows just how to wake him up.

He pushes the covers down and slides down the bed until he kneels between Derek’s spread legs. He pushes them up, bending them at the knees to bare him to Stiles’s view, making it easy for Stiles to nose in at his balls and lick the musky skin. Derek is still sticky and sweaty from the night before, smelling of spunk and lube. When Stiles presses a finger to his hole, it’s easy to slip one finger in, but he’s not quite ready for two, so Stiles fucks him slowly with the one while he mouths at his balls until Derek whines.

“What do you want, big guy?” Stiles wants to hear it, wants to make him _say_ it.

“Fuck me.” The words are a whisper, as if Derek tries to keep himself quiet, and that makes Stiles laugh, low and rough. It doesn’t matter how quiet they are; the entire pack knows what they’re doing. None of the relationships are secret, not since Jackson turned up pregnant three months ago and they learned that he’d been sleeping with Danny for half a year. Not since they learned that somehow women can get pregnant together, and Lydia is round with Cora’s child, taking it in stride as a demanding princess with Cora to wait on her fondly.

It’s the pack trying to grow, trying to re-establish itself, combined with an emissary that is too strong, and an emissary/alpha bond. Stiles has some vague idea of the magic behind it and that it is supposedly his fault, which Erica reminds him of daily when she waddles after struggling to stand. The only one taking it in stride is Allison, who seems pleased as punch to be carrying twins and absolutely positive that her children will have different fathers. It wouldn’t surprise Stiles in the least if that were true.

“Tell me again,” he murmurs, mouth sliding over the soft skin of Derek’s dick. He licks at the head like a lollipop, swirling his tongue around it and pressing into the slit. “Louder.”

“I want you to fuck me.” The words are ground out between gritted teeth, edging on a groan that grows louder when Stiles opens his mouth and takes Derek deep inside. Derek’s hips lift, pushing up hungrily, and he says it a third time, begging. “Fuck me, Stiles.”

“Not yet.” Stiles wants him on the edge, wants him begging to come. He backs off, then takes him into his mouth again and again, until Derek’s movements stutter, fucking roughly up, hips jerking. Derek reaches for Stiles’s hair, and Stiles grips his wrist hard and puts his hand on the sheets, waiting until it twists into them, holding on. “Don’t move.”

Stiles twists a second finger into Derek, pushing deep and barely letting him get accustomed before a third finger goes in. Werewolves aren’t like humans; their healing factor changes sex, changes the way their body accommodates it. Stiles can hurt Derek, but he can’t injure him. All he needs is enough lubrication to make him start opening up, and Derek will be ready.

“Fuck.” The groan is loud enough to be heard outside the room, and that’s enough for Stiles.

“You want it rough?” He comes to his knees between Derek’s legs, lifting his hips to get him into position. They’ve gotten better at this since the pregnancy, at finding ways to make it good but comfortable as Derek grows larger. At eight months along, there is very little that is easy for Derek, but with his he can just lie back and let Stiles fuck him.

Derek moans, eyes flashing. “Yes. Fuck. _Now_.” The last word is an order, accompanied by the bright red flash of an alpha trying to intimidate his mate. And this time, Stiles is only to glad to agree.

He pushes into Derek hard, bottoming out on the first stroke and pulling back to do it all over again. On the third stroke, Derek whines, and by the fourth he is crying out, hands twisting viciously in the sheets as he bucks beneath Stiles. It won’t take long for either of them, Stiles knows, but he tries to draw it out anyway, rotating his hips just so and slowing down, rolling in deep before he pulls almost all the way out. “Wake up the pack, Derek,” he whispers. “Wake them up.”

Derek moans, pushing back at Stiles, anxious to be fucked. “They’re awake,” he says, words strangled. “Erica and Boy are out on the balcony. Danny’s fucking Jackson in the shower. Cora’s eating Lydia out on the kitchen counter and _fuck_ she is loud. Scott, Allison and Isaac haven’t left the couch.”

It’s a pack thing, Stiles knows. Pheromones, maybe, or something in the way they are bound together that makes them like this. And it gets him off knowing that because he and Derek are fucking, the rest of them are getting off. That they are bound like this, more than just a pack. They are all _together_ , needing each other. “I’m going to make you come,” he whispers. “I’m going to make you come so hard that everyone else gets off on your howl.”

He doesn’t want to hold back any longer, pushing in and driving deep and fast and so hard it makes his eyes roll back in his head from the friction. Stiles doesn’t touch Derek; he doesn’t need to. Five more strokes and Derek is coming hard enough that he paints them both. The howl is ripped from his chest, loud and long until Stiles joins him, crying out as he spills deep inside of him.

He dimly registers the answering howls, the sharp cries and yips and moans audible through the open door that leads to the stairs down. Magic rises around them and settles again into place, the pack bond reverberating faintly, warm where it wraps around Stiles’s heart.

He slips from Derek and lies down next to him, wrapped around him close, one hand on his belly to feel where their child rests. “Love you,” he murmurs as Derek rolls on his side, holding onto Stiles comfortably.

“Mmph.” Derek noses his throat, kisses him there. “Still too early.”

“Did I just fuck you back to sleep?”

“Maybe.” There’s a soft huff of breath, and Derek’s body eases against him. “Love you too.”

Stiles doesn’t mind. After all, if they fall back asleep, that just means he gets to wake Derek up all over again. He’d be happy to keep this up all day.


End file.
